I’ve never really had a home but most of us don’t. We float around from home to home, being used and lost every few months.
When I was younger I looked my best. Never dull, never chewed on, never taken for granted.
Now my age shows. I have scratches from falling, but marks from deep thoughts just before my head hits he paper.
My first and only sharpen of my life was made by a knife. My point appears faceted like a cut diamond, rather than smooth and pointy like a golf tee.
I hear that my eraser can harden over time, leaving marks instead of removing them. I hope I take care of myself well enough that that never happens.
I’m happy to be where I am. I feel it’s where I’m supposed to be. But I sure do miss my brothers and sisters. I wonder how they’re doing?
I wrote the above as a writing exercise from a workbook I’m using to help me write my book. The workbook is by Beth Kephart, titled “Tell the Truth. Make it Matter.”. It’s funny, like Beth mentions in the workbook, how writing in the voice of something that is not me actually forces me from the shadows. More exercises and writing to come...